


I'm Gonna Love You Each and Every Day

by Titti



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-01
Updated: 2008-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-28 10:56:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/673613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Titti/pseuds/Titti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean are the only ones who can banish Nut and Geb. With a sex ritual</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Gonna Love You Each and Every Day

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the spn_holidays.

"Did you find anything?" Dean asked, feeling excited at the prospect of going out and killing something instead of being locked up in a hotel cleaning his guns. Again. Two weeks and three dead elderly couples later, they still had no clue what was doing this.

Sam shook his head, but continued to read the same page. "It's some kind of joke."

"Really?" Dean put down the gun and got closer to the bed Sam was occupying. "You're reading Dad's journal and you think he is joking about the supernatural. Are you stupid?"

"Obviously _this_ is a joke," he said slamming the book close. "I mean, we don't even find anything in this journal anymore. We've faced everything Dad has."

"Or maybe not," Dean said. "The man spent over twenty years doing this job. He might know a thing or two more than us. He might know what's doing this."

Sam looked up. "Really?" he said with a snort. "According to the journal, this is the work of Nut and Geb. They were brother and sister according to Egyptian mythology. Their father Shu, who had these two children with his sister Tefnut, found Nut and Geb having sex and separated them, not because of the little incest problem since it hadn’t stopped Shu before, but because Nut and Geb protected the earth and the sky and ergo they couldn't be together." He shook his head while reading, because they might have dealt with a lot of things, but Egyptian mythology was pushing it. "According to Dad, they found each other again after a hundred years, now they reappear every hundred years and kill couples who had arguments with their children. They don't stop until someone banishes them."

Dean rubbed his hands. "That's perfect, man. We do this ritual, and we can finally leave this place."

"Yeah… it's not that simple," Sam said.

"Oh, come on, Sam. It can't be that difficult." He sat on the bed, turned toward his brother. "Come on, tell me what we have to do."

Sam stared at Dean for a moment, and then shook his head. "According to the journal, there is a very complicate ceremony. It needs to be during the full moon-"

"That's only four days away, dude. It's perfect," Dean said.

"Shut up, Dean." Sam huffed as he opened the journal again and showed him what was written there. "Do you still think it's that easy?"

Dean looked up, frowning. "That's a joke, right?"

Sam laughed, but it died down when he saw Dean's confusion. "It depends. If you believe everything Dad says, then no, you need two siblings willing to have sex during the full moon while painting Egyptians hieroglyphics on their bodies. Piece of cake. Or you think Dad got it wrong."

"Dad never got it wrong," Dean answered immediately.

Sam nodded. "Right. He was perfect. Dean, I know you loved him… I loved him, but he was far from perfect and even if he was right, it's not like we can do this."

"What do you mean 'we'? It talks about a brother and a sister," Dean pointed out, ignoring the way his heart sped up at the mere possibility of touching Sam like that.

Sam pushed the journal under Dean's nose again. "See? It says two siblings. It doesn't say a brother and sister."

Dean shut the journal and tossed it on the mattress. "So suddenly you want to do it?" he said, unsure of what Sam was saying.

"Oh hell, no," he spat out before Dean could say anything more. We aren't even sure it's going to work." He leaned toward Dean, smirking. "Unless you're so desperate. You haven't got laid in weeks," he said, before standing up, going to the bathroom.

"You wish; you'd never get someone as good looking as me," Dean yelled as Sam shut the door. The sudden flush on his cheek had nothing to do with anything to do with the images running in his head, images of Sam squirming under him, coming above him, pushing from behind. Dean had a fervid imagination, after all.

* * *

Dean had never thought of his life as anything out of the ordinary. Sure, they killed werewolves and demons, but other than that? They were just like everybody else, at least if everyone slept in cars and motels room and lived off other's people's credit cards, but those were details in Dean's book. Underneath everything, they were a family, even now that everyone was gone, leaving just him and Sam, they were just a family, like everyone else.

This case, however, had turned everything upside down. He couldn't possible think of them as just another family when, every time Sam mentioned the ritual, he got these images of them having sex. It wasn't the first time, either. It had been before Sam had left for Stanford, but back then there had been a long string of cases that had interfered with his fucking. So he had dismissed the entire thing as being horny. It was harder to dismiss the second time around.

"What's wrong with you? You're either spacing out or bitching," Sam hissed over a cup of some vanilla-flavored doubled-shot latte or at least that's what he had asked for, Dean was sure that it was just bad coffee.

He took a sip of his coffee – just black, thank you very much – before putting the mug down with extreme slowness. "People are getting killed," he answered, putting just the right tone of annoyance and worry. "Another four couples have died. Four couples in the area of hundred miles. We haven't found anything, there is no fucking way for us to find the next victims."

They had gotten close once. It hadn't been the result of research or instinct. It had been pure luck, but even then, they hadn't been able to stop it. They had watched as the spirits (deities, Sam insisted) kept everyone out and sucked the life out of the old couple.

Sam sighed. "I know." They looked at each other, and they both knew that there was only one solution. "I can't believe he was right."

Dean snorted. "Dad was kinda-"

"Obsessed," Sam put it, but there was no resentment, only a soft smile on his face.

"I was gonna say devoted, but obsessed works too," he answered, grinning, because it was the only way he could say what he was about to say without betraying himself. "The full moon is a week away."

Sam nodded slowly, staring at his cup for a few minutes. He looked at Dean between his bangs. "So, we're really going to do it."

"Do you have any other idea?" Dean asked, knowing the answer, but he had to give Sam the chance to back out. 

Sam shook his head. "This is weird even for us," he said, but again, he was smiling. "What do you think Dad would say?"

Dean groaned. "Can we not include more relatives in this discussion?" In fact, he wanted to forget that they ever had this discussion. He wanted to push everything away and forget how much the idea of a naked Sam made him hard.

"It's just a job," Sam said, trying to imitate their father's voice, before breaking into a laugh. "This is so fucked up," he finally declared, before reaching for his coffee again.

Dean thought quickly. It was a job, something that only they could do. They couldn't even try to push this on some other hunter. You needed siblings, brothers. Letting these spirits kill forever wasn't an option either. They needed to be stopped, if only for another hundred years. No, they needed to do it, but he knew how Sam had reacted. _Hell, no_ , Dean had replayed the disgusted answer over and over, trying to push away his desire for his brother. Fucked up didn't even begin to describe it.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized that there was only one solution. "You can fuck me," Dean said calmly.

Sam spit coffee all over the table. He blinked as he watched Dean take a napkin and dry his face. "You want me to do what?" he asked incredulous.

Dean shrugged. "One of us has to do it, and for Christ's sake, wipe your face, Sam. You have that pansy coffee everywhere." Without waiting, he reached for another napkin and cleaned Sam's face.

Sam's eyes went as wide as saucers. "This… this isn't helping, Dean. You cleaning up my face like you used to when I was a kid, really not helping. Are you fucking crazy?"

Dean watched the outburst without reacting and then cocked his head. "Are you done with your temper tantrum?" Okay, so comparing his brother to a toddler after asking him to have sex was probably not the best idea, but Sam was really being like a kid. "You know where this discussion was headed. You know what we have to do, and one of us has to do the fucking-"

"Shhh, would you not yell?" Sam managed to whisper and yell at the same time. He leaned back, staring at Dean and not drinking any more coffee – he might have lost his mind, but he wasn't stupid. "I… I know, but you…"

"I, what, Sammy?"

"Could you not call me that right now?" Sam asked. "And you, Mr. I Fuck Every Woman In Sight, want me to fuck you. Call me strange, but that surprised me."

Dean looked down, tracing the edge of his mug with a finger. "Mr. I Fuck Everyone In Sight." He looked into Sam's eyes. "Not often, mind you, but it has happened."

Sam frowned, staying silent. "Why don't I know about it?" he asked after a few moments

"Because it's not something I broadcast and because there are more women around than men. It didn't really happen when you were around, mostly after you left for school." Maybe that should have been his first clue that his desire for Sam wasn't just a case of lack of sex, but Dean was good at ignoring the obvious. "It's not a big deal, and besides, knowing you, you'll research everything until you know exactly how to get me off," he said with the sleaziest smile he could manage.

Sam groaned. "I hate you."

Dean laughed. "I know, but you're still going to fuck me." And perhaps if he kept saying it, the butterflies in his stomach would fly away. Perhaps. Dean could delude himself up to a point, but he knew that nothing would make his feelings for Sam disappear.

* * *

The past week had been hell as far as Dean was concerned. There was nothing for them to do, no evil to kill, nothing but sitting around waiting for the full moon to arrive. Sam seemed to have his head buried in his laptop, and Dean really didn't want to know if Sam was researching gay sex.

"It's almost time." Sam turned off the laptop and looked at his brother. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

Dean nodded curtly. "Of course."

"You've been pacing for the past hour," Sam noted.

"And you've been sitting there like-" Dean realized that after the first objections, Sam had seemed perfectly all right with the entire situation, never once asking to 'talk about it'. Dean should have known that it had been too good to be true. "Are _you_ sure?"

"We have no choice, Dean," he said coldly. 

Dean had learned to hate that voice through the years. It was the same voice he had used when telling Dad that he was leaving for Stanford. It was the same that Sam used when he wanted to do something and nothing and no one would change his mind, except Dean didn't want to change his mind. However, he still had to try. "I know, but… I don't want you to do this unless-"

Sam interrupted him with a mirthless laugh. "Unless what? Unless I really want to fuck my big brother." He stood up, stopping in front of Dean. "I'm sorry… I tried to look for something, spoke with Bobby… I can't find anything, Dean, but I don't want to do this to you."

Dean stared into Sam's face, seeing the pain and hating that he was the cause. He would have never said anything. To be honest, he never would have thought of the two of them if it weren't for this case, but here they were, and he wanted Sam, wanted him more than he could say anything, and while staying quiet would have saved his dignity, he couldn't let Sam torture himself.

"I want you to," he finally admitted, strong and loud, daring Sam to say any different. His fingers curled around the nape of Sam's neck and pulled him into a kiss, soft and unhurried, nipping at Sam's bottom lip until Sam relaxed.

"Dean, are you-" he whispered.

"Stop asking and stop worrying. I want you to fuck me." He pulled back, and took a deep breath. "So… how are we-"

Sam breathed easier at that, because concentrating on the theory behind it helped forget the reality of it. "There is an abandoned farm outside the town. We can go there. I got blankets and we need moonlight… What are you doing, Dean?"

Dean, who was currently peeking behind the curtain, moved away. "No clouds, we should be fine with the moonlight." He chuckled. "Sam, I think I know the basics by now. I meant those hieroglyphics. Do I need to remember anything?"

Sam shook his head. "No. I do all the writing."

"Yes, with the chocolate flavored body finger paint, I saw," he said with a grin that turned into a smirk when he saw the blush in Sam's face. "It's all right, Sammy; we might as well enjoy it, right? And if you are a little kinky-" He shrugged, and ducked when Sam threw a pen his way. "What? I'm just saying."

"It's the only thing I could find," he mumbled, before picking up his duffle bag. "Let's go, Dean."

Dean rubbed his hands against his jeans, but then grabbed the keys to the Impala and walked outside. He got into the car before Sam, engine running even though it was eighty degrees and no need to let the car warm up, but the purr from the Impala relaxed him.

Sam opened the back door and unzipped the duffle bag for some arcane reason since Dean was pretty sure that he'd checked everything about a million times and it wasn't like they needed much: blanket, body paint, lube. It didn't take long to make a list. Still this was Sam and Sam always needed to double-check everything. 

"Ready?" Dean asked when Sam finally sat on the passenger side. A brief nod from his brother, and Dean put the car into drive and they were off, Led Zeppelin blasting through opened windows and preventing any more discussion.

"Turn is coming up on your right," Sam said after ten minutes.

Dean followed Sam's direction after that, although they were pretty useless. There was only one dirty road leading to the only building in sight. He parked behind the stable so no one would see it unless he specifically came here. Zeppelin was still going _Been dazed and confused for so long, it's not true. Wanted a woman, never bargained for you._ How true were those words, Dean thought as he turned off the car.

He got out, picking the real important things: a gun, a knife and a sawed-off shotgun, because one never knew what came crawling in the dark. Dean threw a glance in Sam's direction. His brother was walking, duffle bag in hand, muscles tense. "Sammy-" he started.

"Don't call me that," came the curt reply.

Dean sighed, and followed silently. At least for a few seconds. "It really doesn't matter, y'know? Sam, Sammy makes no difference. You're my brother, and I'd do anything to protect you and if you don't want to do this, we'll just move on."

Sam stopped and turned. "I've been thinking-"

"That always causes problems," Dean said with a smirk.

Sam rolled his eyes and went on. "Dad couldn't have met these deities since they come out every hundred years. Even if he had, he couldn't have stopped them since he had no siblings, but he still wrote the ritual down. There is only one reason why he would do that. He knew they were coming, he knew, and gave us a way to stop it. How screwed up is that?"

"So what? You're angry at him now? A little too late, Sammy. Too late and useless." Dean closed the gap, standing too close even for them. "You don't wanna do it, we leave right now. If not, stop worrying." He put his hands on Sam's shoulders. "I told you; I want you to." He actually had to raise his head to kiss Sam, and he was truly fucked up when he thought that _that_ was the strange part. "C'mon, Sammy, stop thinking."

"If I stop thinking, we fuck this up, and we have to do it again on the next full moon," Sam said, smiling, although the tension was still there.

"See, that's your problem," Dean started as he took the bag from Sam's hand and took out the blankets. "You think sex every twenty-eight days is too much. Seriously, dude, you need to get laid more often." That earned him a real laugh from Sam, and Dean hid a smile as he put the blanket down. 

He took his shoes and socks off without any more preambles. His shirt and jeans were next, and then he realized that Sam was staring at him with that little frown between his eyes that said that he was thinking again. "What the hell is wrong now?"

"You have no underwear," Sam said, his fingers still gripping his own shirt like it was the only way he could keep himself from touching Dean, or at least, that was what Dean hoped it meant.

"Yes, because we were coming here to fuck," Dean said slowly as if he were speaking to a child. "It's not my fault you're wearing two shirts, in the middle of June, in freaking Alabama, when, as I mentioned, we came here to fuck. Would you just get naked?"

Sam snorted. "So romantic, Dean. Is this how you get all those women?"

"They are sure things… just like you, Sammy," Dean answered back, his grin turning into laughter when Sam threw his shirts at him. "Real scary, man. You might want to try something other than cotton."

Sam muttered something in response, but Dean suddenly couldn't focus on anything other than Sam's body. His baby brother was pushing down his baggy jeans and boxer-briefs at once, and good God, Dean was actually salivating, because he hadn't seen Sam completely naked since puberty had hit. Even with a broken arm, Sam had insisted on doing things himself. Now here he stood in all his glory, and _fuck, Sam is hung_ , he thought with a mix of anticipation, trepidation and big dose of pride. "Jesus," he blurted out.

"What?" Sam asked.

Dean reluctantly looked away from Sam's crotch and shrugged. "Just wondering how you keep it in your paints."

"You're such a dick, Dean," Sam said, voice colored with affection.

"Better believe it." He wished there was something else to say, because as long as they talked and bitched at each other, neither of them had to concentrate on the fact that they were naked, in the middle of a field, behind an abandoned building, and Dean still hated the fact that they were unprotected. "Can we just get on with this?" he finally said. "I don't want to banish two spi- deities and get killed by some angry homophobic spirit… or redneck."

"Gotta a point," Sam said as he picked the body paint – chocolate as Dean had so helpfully pointed out,- but Sam figured that edible body paint would have been a lot less messy than real body paint. "Lie down," he said, mentally going through the ritual.

Dean knew that look, and he knew that Sam wasn't really thinking about anything other than the job at hand, and it was for the best. Still, the command didn't fail to make his cock twitch and Dean was grateful that Sam wasn't paying attention.

He lay down, and the moment his shoulders hit the blanket, Sam was straddling him, with the jar of paint in one hand and a glint in his eyes. Sam opened his mouth, but Dean cut him off with an honest, "I trust you."

Sam didn't understand that Dean didn't just trust him with his body, because in the end, this was sex, and sex had always been easy for Dean. No, Dean had given Sam his heart a long time ago, and that was why Dean could never really settle down with anyone.

There was nothing left for Dean to do, but lay there and watch as the moon shone on Sam, delineating sculpted muscles. Sam dipped his finger into the jar and began drawing hieroglyphics with a sure hand, his touch gentle and firm at the same time. He drew a circle around Dean's nipple, earning a groan from Dean, and then down covering Dean's stomach, and then down his legs. Dean cried out when Sam's finger moved over the inside of his thighs, and then down again, until his entire body was covered. Only his crotch had been left untouched.

Dean was panting, his cock hard from all the stimulation. He had had sex in the past. He had had plenty of sex, but sex had started with quick gropes behind school and had morphed into quick fucks in an ally. Nothing, _nothing_ , had ever felt so good, so intimate.

He looked up and saw the awe in Sam's eyes. It burned through him, risking destroying him. "You're good, so? You learned from me," he said, trying to gather all his cockiness, but his voice was too shaky and his body was trembling from need. Still, Sam stopped looking at him like he was the answer to world hunger.

"I surpassed the teacher," Sam said with a smirk that looked all wrong, and yet so right, considering the situation.

"As if… 'sides, you still haven't shown me shit other than the fact that you're a nerd who gets off on ancient alphabet," Dean retorted, ignoring the fact that he was just as hard, if not harder, than Sam at the moment.

Sam grabbed the lube and then hesitated. "We can't… I mean the rituals talk about semen… I don't know if-"

Dean propped himself on his elbows, glaring at his brother. "Sammy, I know I fuck around, but I always use condoms. If I thought for a moment that I could hurt you-"

This time, it was Sam that stopped the talking by smashing their lips together, and it was nothing like their earlier kisses. There was no softness here, but hunger and need, and Sam was all tongue and teeth, taking what he wanted and leaving Dean incoherent and breathless. "Sammy…"

"Just relax, Dean. I promise I won't hurt," Sam whispered.

"I know," was the soft answer.

Sam uncapped the lube with him thumb, and Dean could see Sam trying to recall everything he had read, or at least he hoped so, because the alternative was just too much to contemplate, but when a finger pressed in sure and in control, Dean blurted out, "You've done this before."

Sam laughed, he outright laughed at him. "Dean, I've had anal sex before. It is possible to do it with women, too."

Dean breathed easier, although he didn't want to admit why. It was only because Sam knew what he was doing, he tried to tell himself, but he stopped talking when a second finger pushed in and suddenly they curved to brush against his prostrate, making him shake. "Not done that with women," he said when he could speak again.

Again, Sam laughed. "No, but I know how to read."

"Except you can't follow direction," Dean answered.

"I can when it's something I like." Sam crooked his fingers again, smiling when Dean cried. "I like seeing you speechless."

"Fuck you," Dean snapped back without any venom. Difficult to summon any venom when he was pushing back on Sam's fingers, trying to get them deeper. "Would you fuck me already?"

A simple question and the hesitation was back again in every line of Sam's body, if only for a split second, and then a determined look settled on Sam's face. "We need to do it like this," Sam said as he slicked his own cock.

"I don't give a shit how as long as you get me off," Dean answered, putting a hand on his cock and stroking it, hoping that Sam would get the message. He didn't expect Sam to swat his hand away before pinning both wrists to the sides of his face. Sam hovered over him, bodies almost touching but not quite. 

"Stop that, Dean. You don't get yourself off, and you don't mess with the hieroglyphics. You're going to lie there, and let me fuck you. Got it?" Sam asked in a growl.

Dean cleared his throat, but when he opened his mouth nothing came out. He nodded instead, and Sam smiled brightly.

"Good," Sam said, before kissing Dean again. 

They'd have to talk about this insane need Sam had to bite, Dean thought for a moment, before he was kissing Sam back, content to do this all night long, but before he knew it, Sam had rearranged him until he was lying with his legs up, ankles resting on Sam's shoulders. He knew he should really be embarrassed about this, about the way he was happily letting his baby brother spreading, but then the blunt head was pushing inside him.

Sam stilled when Dean stopped breathing and ran his fingers over Dean's hips, careful to circumvent the marks. He waited, thighs trembling with the effort until Dean was breathing again. There were no more questions or reassurance, but their eyes locked on each other, and words became unnecessary.

Dean relaxed, opening himself for his brother, until Sam was balls deep inside him. His entire body screamed for more, his fists closing around the blanket and almost ripping it. He tried to push against Sam, but he had no leverage. Thankfully, Sammy was smart, and he started moving, small jabs of his hips at first, and then he was sliding out almost completely before ramming into Dean. He did it again and again, until Dean was a bundle of nerves, asking, _begging_ to come, but Sam wouldn't let him.

"So good, Dean… just a little longer," Sam said softly, before dipping his finger into the paint again, cursing when he made the jar fall, spilling most of it, proof that he wasn't as coherent as he looked.

"Sammy… God… please… I can't." Dean jumped out of his skin when he felt Sam's finger trace symbols over his balls and cock. "Please… oh god, can't… want you, touch me."

Sam shook his head, almost apologetic. "Can't, Dean. I can't ruin the writing." 

Dean squirmed under him, and he must have looked really desperate, because Sam dipped his finger in the last of the paint and retraced the symbols on his crotch. The touch was too gentle, and not enough friction, but then Sam slammed into Dean, hitting his prostate and growled, "Come for me, Dean. C'mon."

Dean was never one to deny Sam anything. He couldn't have even if he had wanted to. His entire world stopped for the briefest instant, before he was coming all over his stomach, feeling Sam fuck him through the spasms, hitting his oversensitive prostrate until it was almost too much. "Sammy." He reached up, trying to pull Sam closer, but Sam was having none of it. He continued to pound into Dean, head thrown back, hair stuck to his forehead and eyes closed. Dean didn't want to know what Sam was thinking about, not when he looked so turned on, and then there was one last push, and Dean could feel Sam coming inside him.

Sam stayed where he was until he could breathe again. Finally he let go of Dean's legs and rolled to the side, lying shoulder-to-shoulder with his brother. "Dean, I-"

"If you say 'I'm sorry', I'm gonna beat the shit out of you," Dean said without looking at Sam. He had liked to think that they were a normal family, but Dean had fucked that up by wanting his brother, and now it could never happen again, because Sam was not comfortable with this. Not that many people would be okay with incest. Still it was easier to ignore the need when he had never had Sam, not so easy when Sam was lying down naked and sweaty next to him. 

Dean sighed, and sat up. He looked down at his body, and he looked like a mess, a mix of come and body paint. "God, I need a shower." He looked at Sam. "Is it done?"

"If Dad was right, then yes," Sam answered.

Dean winced when Sam mentioned their father. "Okay, then let's go, before something else decides to come out and play."

Sam moved quickly, kneeling on Dean's side and staring at him, and Dean knew that something stupid like 'we need to talk' was about to come out of Sam's mouth, but Sam only shook his head. "You can savage the shirt if you wear only your jeans," he finally said.

Dean knew that wasn't what Sam had wanted to say, but avoidance was a blessed thing, especially when Dean knew that Sam wanted to apologize and reassure him that it would never happen again. Dean already knew all of that.

* * *

They stayed in Alabama for another few days to make sure that there were no more deaths. When they were finally sure that those deities (and pain in the ass as far as Dean was concerned) were gone, they packed their things, ready to move to the next case.

Dean made one last look around the room to make sure that they had everything, before heading for the Impala. Sam was already sitting in the passenger seat, staring out the window as if it had some beautiful view instead of the crappy motel they had been living in for longer than Dean had liked.

"You okay?" Dean asked as he turned the car on.

Sam nodded, and then shook his head. "Why didn't you tell me before?"

Dean looked at his brother, confused. "What?"

"About-" He waved his hands, gesturing between the two of them while he looked firmly at the leather seat.

"What was I supposed to say? Hey, Sammy, don't go to Stanford, because I want to have sex with you. Yeah, I can see that going over well," Dean said, snorting.

Sam's head snapped up. "Since then?"

"No, yes… goddamn it, Sam, can't you drop it," Dean said, knowing full well that it would take a miracle to make Sam drop anything. Sam didn't disappoint him.

"No, no, Dean, we can't, because… because we spend our lives together, because we have no one but each other. No, I can't drop it. I need to know," he finished softly, puppy eyes staring at Dean.

Dean sighed. "I might have gotten a few hard-ons back them, but Dad was always riding me, and I hadn't get laid in ages, so I figured I was horny."

"And now?" 

"And now, it doesn't matter. You're my brother, and this was a one-time thing. Just a job." Dean looked up at Sam. "We can forget about it."

"I don't think I can," Sam said after a few moments of silence, and then he leaned over, pressing his lips against Dean's. "Maybe I don't mind getting laid more than once every month, even if it's with my dick of a brother." He focused on Dean. "I-" There was no way he could express everything he felt for his brother.

Dean grinned, because he didn't need words. "I know. Me too." He winked at Sam, and then turned the Impala on. As he put it into drive, Led Zeppelin came to life: _I know what it means to be alone, I sure do wish I was at home. I don't care what the neighbors say, I'm gonna love you each and every day._

I'm gonna love you each and every day. Zeppelin was always right and Dean planned to do just that.


End file.
